


It's a Metaphor for My Dick

by BigEvilShine



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Acrophobia, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9652763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigEvilShine/pseuds/BigEvilShine
Summary: Rhys has a fear of heights. Jack's just had the construction on a skyscraper that's not over compensating for anything completed. The celebration party is kinda stressful.





	

Rhys’ worst nightmare was coming to fruition.

“Th-this,” he swallowed, throat feeling too tight, “did you say this Tuesday?”

Jack lounged on the other side of the elevator, pouting as he tried to figure out how to flip and spin the butterfly knife he’d taken off the most recent corporate stooge that had passed out at their CEO’s mere presence. Unfortunately the whole cool casual knife flipping seemed to be something one had to work at before going professional. Which was a supposition cemented by the fourth small hiss and Jack shaking out his hand where he’d pinched his fingers in the blade.

“I know right those ass nuggets took like a friggin’ billion years but my big throbbing metaphor riddled skyscraper’s finished.” Jack spoke about a Hyperion operated eridium mining town that he’d been bolstering with new add ons and developments until it had become one of the galaxy’s foremost green energy cities. Rhys had the commendations and certificates cross his desk a few times on their way to Jack’s, each confirming that the city’s existence was lowering the entire human population’s carbon footprint on that planet. He and Jack had taken a few trips to it over the years and each time Rhys had been faced with Jack’s smug pride and impatience at the ever taller skeleton of the city’s innermost tower. The sight of it unfinished had been enough to make Rhys’ fingers and toes go numb, just looking up at it from the ground imbuing him with the sense of it looming overhead and bound to topple over and crush him under its weight.

Suffice to say Rhys was desperately hoping the tower’s day of completion and subsequent celebration would never come.

“I, ah,” Rhys quickly added a note to his calendar through his ECHOeye and then brought the mess of dates up through his palm display. “Oh, well it looks like I’ve got a critical systems check that day,” he forced out his most believable regretful smile which may have come off as a twitchy wince. Jack missed it entirely, breathing in sharply as he gave himself a tiny cut on the knife and popping the injured fingertip in his mouth. Rhys tried not to stare.

“Pbbfffbllt,” Jack rolled his eyes, removing his finger and inspecting the wound. Apparently it was up to standards enough for Jack to wipe his slobbery finger on Rhys’ back, though he did try to hide it in a casual back pat. Which, that was almost better.

“Yeah, get that crap rescheduled, jelly bean. I’m not dealing with any of those event coordinators that are setting this thing up, that’s your job.” Jack gave his assistant’s shoulder a squeeze as breezed past and out of the elevator, leaving Rhys to slump his shoulders and, with a small sigh, delete his fake appointment and trail after his boss.

The days leading up to the opening came slowly and left quickly. Rhys kept trying to dig his nails into any solid reason he could wiggle his way out of the event, subtly searching for a replacement or way to help with the event remotely. There was a vague, wispy little thread of hope that if Rhys could effectively fake illness claiming allergies against the alien flora that Jack would allow him to stay holed up in his hotel room and work in the background.

And yet Rhys still ended up in the middle of the glass ceiling crowned, highest room cresting the very tip top of Jack’s prideful architectural over compensation. The room was round with its glass walls slanting up to meet as a pyramid. The marble floor was dotted with lush gardens and in ground ponds filled with some of this planets most beautiful and benign flora and fauna. Crystal sculptures and busts on loud bright gold pedestals depicted Jack in various poses of triumph and inner contemplation. It was by a statue of a larger than life Jack holding out his hand to spill an aesthetic little waterfall into a pond that Rhys had been sticking to most of the day. This happened to be the most center part of the ballroom, farthest from the tall open windows and the reinforced glass floored walkways that ringed the room. Rhys was surprisingly okay here, so long as he stayed far from the windows. Looking down at the half empty glass of some kind of fruity alcoholic drink, Rhys figured that may have been helping with the nerves as well. 

“Heeey cupcake,” Jack passed through a batch of party goers, Moses and the Red Sea but way more dirty corporate politicking flavored. Rhys hummed his own greeting, sipping away the rest of his drink as Jack took his time circling and grinning at the crystal fountain modeled in his image then doing the same to his personal assistant.

“Hmmm, havin’ fun? Enjoying all the free booze and nonexistent necklines?” Jack’s eyes flicked to a simpering group of guests who wore dresses with draped cloth that left skin bare down to bejeweled belly buttons, and backs so exposed Rhys was sure he’d caught five or six inches total of ass cleavage over the past two hours. Then people wearing suits weren’t any more modest with most lacking waistcoats entirely with too many buttons left undone over the chest. Rhys figured there was a real, measurable positive correlation between Jack’s presence and the amount of skin showing from those around him.

“The drinks are alright,” Rhys muttered, wondering at how many yards of double sided sticky tape were standing between tits and modesty in this room alone. Jack snorted, snatching a handful of tiny glasses from a passing serving tray and pounding back four and kindly granting Rhys the last three.

“Yeah the tits are less exciting when they’re ninety percent silicone but they all feel just as pretty in your hands, champ. How’s that allergy you were bitchin’ about earlier? Lookin’ as pretty and dewy skinned as usual.” Jack’s grin was as sharp and feral as usual but the sparkle in his eyes were a good hint that Rhys wasn’t about to get strangled for being caught in a lie.

“Ahahaha, yeah, haha, so funny story…” Rhys was flushed hot red, clearing his throat and mumbling under his breath that he just really, really was nervous about this event and didn’t want to do anything to embarrass Jack. Like vomit on his shoes from nerves. This was true as hell because Rhys was sure his anxiety was going to make him pass out or start crying if he neared the balconies.

“…Mmkay, whatever don’t do it again or I’ll have to give you a slap on the wrist or somethin’. Or ass,” Jack added, glancing at said derriere. “Right! So we’re gonna christen this bitch and I’m gonna need you for a minute then you can come back and ogle my shiny crystal butt cheeks or maybe get a pair and try to take home some cute honey before the party’s over.” Rhys rolled his eyes, setting aside his glass and following Jack through the crowd. Jack caught the silent sass, arching an eyebrow at Rhys as the stepped over a glass floor covered pond full of some sort of glowing aquatic plant life.

“You givin’ me attitude there, starshine?”

Rhys looked up at the blue sky overhead, begging for strength from the universe at large. “Just wishing you would lay off about my love life.”

“What love life?”

“That. Really super hate that.”

“Well maybe get your dick wet or ass blasted, hey I’m an open minded guy, and I’ll lay off.”

Rhys rubbed at his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. This conversation wasn’t going anywhere. “What did you need me for again?” They had made their way to the farthest point Rhys was comfortable being from the balconies and passed it, his anxiety spiking with each step. He chose to focus on the bottle of champagne Jack shoved in his hands and the broad span of Jack’s back as they stepped out into warm white sunlight. Rhys tried not to think on the click of his heels as they crossed onto the glass balcony.

“I’m gonna throw up,” Rhys croaked, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing the excessive saliva filling his mouth.

“Don’t dirty up my giant dick tower, buttercup.” Clearing his throat Jack sucked in a breath and turned to address the crowd, “listen up freeloaders! We’re all a bunch of good looking rich as sin bastards, am I right?” Jack’s sentiments were met with clapping and cheers, the odd tapping of spoons or nails against crystal cut champagne glasses mixed in. “Not nearly as rich or hot as me but, yanno, we can’t all be me.” Rhys rolled his closed eyes at Jack and the crowd of brown nosing ass lickers that stroked Jack’s max level ego with their chuckling.

“This friggin’ skyscraper is finally done and we’re gonna welcome this puppy with lots of filthy sex and drug use but first, first we’re gonna send her off nice and proper like. Rhys, if you will,” Jack purred.

Rhys had no idea what the hell Jack was talking about, only registering his name over the rush of blood in his ears and the quake in his knees. Then there was a hand on his bicep, big and warm and squeezing until it hurt, and Rhys opened his eyes.

That was a mistake.

Jack’s tower was massive, the tallest building on this planet by almost double everything else, and Rhys was going to fall. The glass under his boots might as well have not been there, he could already feel himself dropping through it like a stone in water. His stomach flipped, sweaty palm leaving a streak of moisture against the bottle he cradled. His head dipped, mind rolling like sloshing water in his skull as gravity grabbed at him and promised to pull him down down down.

“ – Rhys,” Jack’s bark snapped through Rhys’ spiraling panic like dry kindling. Rhys blinked, now aware of the tears sticking to his lashes as Jack gripped him by the jaw and forced Rhys to look at him. Jack was frowning, the telltale angry crease to his brow and sneer on his lips easing into something less violent and more annoyed. “You with me, sweetheart?”

“Mmhm,” Rhys gulped wetly, nodding into Jack’s rough palm. Jack smirked, flicking Rhys’ nose and leaning back out of his personal space. Rhys barely kept from listing forward, missing that harsh and grounding hold Jack had given him.

“Toss that son of a bitch, Rhysie.” Jack was back to full blown grinning, ornery bastard mode as he drew his gun and did a lazy twirl of it over a finger. If Rhys weren’t filled from head to toe with trembling panicked butterflies he would have been further exhausted by how extra Jack insisted on being, but for now he managed to stare up into that misty blue sky and settle the glass bottle in his metal hand. Shifting his grip he drew the arm back and pitched the bottle the best he could forward and off the ledge.

A gunshot, a shatter and spray of shining topaz droplets and emerald green glass in sunlight, cheers, and a, “you throw like a girl.”

It was a success.

The party grew more amped up and debauched by the hour. As the sun set and the stars grew bright Rhys found himself downing too many drinks yet never enough. Sometimes he’d stop and stare at the low glowing lights along each bar of steel supporting the clear panes over head, other times he’d find himself giggling as hands with painted nails or wedding bands would run coyly down his arms and chest. He existed in a softened state of being, somewhere departed from the hard edges of soberness and its aches. Instead now he drifted like oil over water, a paper plane boat in a stream, indulging with soft sighs at the artificially plush painted lips tracing at his throat and the sweet headiness of flower scented hair under his nose. He hummed happily, following that press of pleasure, his eagerness stuttering only when his heels clacked beneath him. Squinting, Rhys stopped in his trailing after warm caresses, feeling a cold trickle cleanse away a small point of fog in his mind.

Looking down he realized why.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like me anymore?” came a gentle pretty little voice, feminine and coy and matching the manicured nails tat tugged at Rhys’ belt, trying to move him further out from the relative safety of the indoors.

“Can’t,” Rhys shook his head, brain rolling in a slow spin from the action. “Can’t, not out here.” He grabbed at the thin wrists still trying to pull at him, focusing on the shine of the diamond bracelet rather than the twinkle of city lights through the glass walkway beneath them.

“Oh come on, don’t be a prude. No one’s going to be able to see us up here and when is the next time we’re going to have this chance? Let’s really christen this tower,” the socialite ended on a horny growl that had Rhys laughing. It was cute, definitely, but the sudden yank on his tie that sent his drunken imbalanced body tumbling forward into hers wasn’t. Whoever she was, she was shorter than him by a fair amount even in the heels, and she stumbled two steps back before managing to catch him. Rhys blinked, eyes bulging as his hands caught one on her shoulder and the other at the chrome golden railing. A ringing deadened his thoughts, his pulse beating in his throat and legs weak as water. Someone was talking, maybe laughing; it didn’t matter because it stopped when Rhys screamed.

He was dropping, falling through the flooring and plummeting. He struck out, hands scrabbling for anything as his eyes slammed shut and knees buckled. He didn’t crash into the pavement below however, instead familiar rough palms curled around him and planted flat against his chest. Rhys was lifted back and pressed into something firm, a warm chest that smelled as familiar as the additional smoky flavor of cigar smoke and whiskey had become back at Helios’ head office. Rhys rubbed his face into the collar of the scratchy sweater, fingers digging into the layers and layers of fabric while Rhys worked to get his feet under him. Finally back to standing on his own Rhys creaked open an eye, realizing he was back safely within the ballroom surrounded by whispering party goers while wrapped up and pressed firmly into his boss. Clinging to him, even.

“Oh my god this is so awkward,” Rhys whispered into Jack’s ear. He felt a snicker against his neck.

“Wanna make it weirder?” Jack rumbled, hands moving down his back teasingly slow. Rhys didn’t quite catch on until Jack was giving his ass a generous double palmed squeeze.

“Jack!” Rhys yipped, bouncing back from his boss with a blush and hammering heart. The crowd laughed, some murmuring and eyebrow arching directed his way. Jack shrugged, clapping a hand on Rhys’ shoulder.

“Like two big handfuls of jiggly heaven back there,” he smiled. Rhys rolled his eyes, face still heated.

“That really wasn’t necessary.” Rhys was really happy to address his public groping and forget about the prior freak out.

Jack shrugged, eyes narrowing at his companion’s neck. Smoothing his hand over he rubbed at the black cherry lipstick marks over Rhys’ tattoo.

“Nah, shit was totally necessary. People can’t seem to take a friggin’ hint about who's allowed to touch you these days.”

**Author's Note:**

> one shot for a prompt over on my [tumblr](http://bigevilshine.tumblr.com)  
> if u have a stupid prompt feel free to shoot me an ask over there, i might do it who knows?  
> hope everyone enjoyed :3


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